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124 CHA P TER fiv e Battering Give ear to my prayer, O God; do not hide yourself from my supplication. . . . My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me, Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me. And I say, “O that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest; . . . I would hurry to find a shelter for myself from the raging wind and tempest.” . . . It is not enemies who taunt me— I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me— I could hide from him. But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend, with whom I kept pleasant company; . . . My companion laid hands on a friend, and violated a covenant with me. with speech smoother than butter, but with a heart set on war; with words that were softer than oil, but in fact were drawn swords. —Psalm 55:1, 4-6, 8, 12-14a, 20-21 I first heard of Eleanor’s story1 from Alice, a public defender who was soon to represent Eleanor at a sentencing hearing in county Superior Court. Fearing that a jury would not believe her story, Eleanor, a shy and soft-spoken African American county bus driver, had pleaded guilty to a reduced charge of second-degree murder. This was against Alice’s advice. Alice thought that Eleanor’s case was strong and they could win. But Eleanor was not willing to face a jury trial with charges of first-degree murder. She was not willing to risk being found guilty and spending all of her children’s growing-up years in prison. Now Alice was hoping that at least the sentence could be mitigated, and was asking me to give expert testimony to help the judge understand the reasons Eleanor had felt threatened and afraid—frightened enough by one of her husband’s assaults that she had tried to defend herself and had accidentally killed him. Battering 125 Alice and Eleanor came to my office at the battered women’s shelter, and Eleanor quietly and haltingly told her story. Eleanor had been married to Bob for eight years. During their first year of marriage, Bob had become verbally abusive, calling her a slut and a whore, falsely and obsessively accusing her of having affairs, disappearing for nights at a time in retaliation for her supposed infidelity, and finally one night, after months of haranguing, punching her in the arms, face, and stomach until she passed out. After that, he had said that he’d “come to his senses” and apologized. Eleanor became more withdrawn and jumpy after that, but she felt that the worst was over and believed that her love would help heal him and their troubled relationship. Bob did not beat her again for several years, but the stream of verbal abuse continued . Now, due to her nervousness around him, he began to tell her she was mentally disturbed, a judgment she sometimes came to share. He also made veiled threats. In one instance, he brought a large industrial hose made of hard rubber into their bedroom and laid it at the foot of the bed. When she asked what it was for, he said it was to whip burglars. Bob also did sexual things that Eleanor felt were abusive, but she did not dare complain . He would grab her at any time of the day or night, throw her down wherever they happened to be, and force her to have intercourse, all the while grinning and saying, “Don’t you like it, babe? I know you want it!” The idea of “marital rape” was inconceivable to her, an oxymoron. She believed that it was her duty as a wife to comply with his sexual demands, and she also was afraid that if she ever refused, he would go back to accusing her of having a lover. She feared his disappearing again and then coming back and beating her. On the day in question, Bob and Eleanor had been arguing. He wanted the milk that was in the refrigerator, and Eleanor had asked him to save it for the children for supper. Bob suddenly towered over her in a rage, holding the full milk carton high in the air. “You don’t want me to waste milk?” he shouted, and started to pour it around the kitchen, splashing the walls and the ceiling. Eleanor started to cry. He...

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